


love and your ego rest in peace

by Lackyducks



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Blackmail, Emotional Hurt, Explosions, Fights, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kidnapping, Major Character Injury, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Permanent Injury, Robbery, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Sacrifice, Slave Trade, Torture, but I promise it gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9934751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lackyducks/pseuds/Lackyducks
Summary: Because if they’re safe then that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.as a group, a relationship, they've been tested before. they've been there, done that, made mistakes, moved on. then one of them leaves.and it might take too long for the others to find out why.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is heavy, and i am very sorry for it. well. kind of. not really. not at all, honestly. 
> 
> title and chapter titles from [outer science - jubyphonics cover.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PgOrF3zD7o)

It's fucking cold.

The chill of the air is _biting_ and Joel regrets not picking up anything heavier than his hoodie. It hadn't crossed his mind how _cold_ Los Santos can get at night. There's a sharp breeze managing to escape past the buildings and he turns to face away from the sting. His eyes are beginning to tear up from the pressure. He doesn't know where's safe to go. He should find a house, a motel, but he doesn't know if they might be tracking him. He regrets leaving his phone behind but they're too easily traced (and he's not as strong a man as he would like and seeing the countless missed calls would break his resolve.) His car had been left behind, crashed into a ditch. He’d like to say it was purposeful but, that would be a lie. He tugs his hoodie tighter around him, truly understands how Matt feels now. Even the rucksack on his back does little to trap any heat. 

For all the planning he should have done, he didn't think this far ahead. He's an idiot. Every single detail up to this point but he didn't plan after. The thought suddenly crosses his mind that maybe he'd be better off dead. He saw the anger in their eyes and he knows that it's what he wanted but it still _hurts._ It hurts because they're supposed to- Well, they aren't supposed to anything really. 

He wonders what time it must be now. He assumes early morning, with how the streets are empty and the sky is dark above him. It's like even the criminals have gone to bed and he could laugh. The only people out at this time are those with something to prove or nothing to lose. He doesn't think he's either anymore. He just has nowhere to go (which is a lie but he still has something to lose and he refuses to lose it.) He finally sees an alleyway that looks empty and decides ‘fuck it’ because Joel Rubin left his pride hours and miles away and he isn't coming back. 

He barely takes a step before there's an arm across his chest and a sharp pain in his neck. He gasps, stumbling forward and it's barely seconds later that his vision blurs and _fuck._ He's lowered to the ground - he registers that - and then his eyes shut and the world drops out from beneath him.

  
  


He's not sure where it started to go wrong. Was it the text or the meeting? The text came first. It had been less than a month ago he received it. Simply a time, date and location. It was from one of his trusted sources and after such a long period of nothing - this was great. When the time came around everyone was busy. Somehow. Elyse and James were celebrating an anniversary, Sean was out of town to visit his parents, then the others were all doing a simple job. It was out of boredom, rather than necessity. Joel had warned _against_ trying to beat Fake AH’s record of ‘stores robbed in one night’ but there's no stopping them when they've set their mind to something. So, it's as the sun begins to set that Joel leaves their penthouse. He's in a light button up, hair carefully gelled. He hasn't bothered with the full look. No makeup or stuff like that. He isn't Gavin - the kid never seems to leave the house without his persona. He's Joel Rubin and he has a reputation of his own: of building gangs from the ground up to something great, of twisting words so you'd never realise you'd been played. He alone was an unstoppable force that had met an immovable object.

So when he steps out the car, ready for more of a friendly meet up than a situation requiring his skills, and there's immediately three red dots across his chest - he realises that not preparing may have been a mistake.

“Well, this is an unusual hello.” He says. He's not sure to who. He holds a hand out approachably. He wants to look around but forces himself not to because to look around would show weakness. You can never show weakness.

“It certainly is. We expected more of you.” A voice replies that Joel wishes didn't make his entire body turn to stone.

“I apologise you just have little old me.” Joel snarks back and his voice remains teasing and open. Joel was taught since a toddler to hide emotions and that he does.

“I think ‘ _little old you_ ’ will work just fine.” The voice says as the man attached finally approaches. Joel internally winces at his height because Joel isn't a short guy but even he's forced to look up. The red lights decorating him don't waver and neither does the gun in the man's hand.

“Corpirate.” Joel greets, keeping his face delightfully friendly. The man laughs.

Corpirate is _not a good man._ Joel knows this. He stands tall, with fancy suits and the combination of a monocle and an eyepatch. He isn’t smooth talking, he takes what he wants by _force_ and that wouldn’t be a problem if not for the force he has behind him.

“Rubin. You know you look very like your father. It’s such a shame-”

“Corpirate - you know the pirate look went out of fashion when you were born?” Joel interrupts because if this asshole is gonna make it personal he wants none of it. He immediately turns to business, “So is there a reason you’re here instead of my client because I don’t take you as the kind of guy to do catch up calls?” Corpirate laughs, deep and heavily as if the sound simply existing in this man is just _wrong._ Joel wouldn’t doubt it.

“You and your crew,” is all he says for Joel to feel dead inside, “you’re part of the RT network. And I don’t like that, they’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long. They need to be taken down a peg but the Fake AH Crew are untouchable where they stand.” He leans down to Joel’s level and Joel hardens his glare. Corpirate ignores him, brings a hand up to cradle Joel’s face that Joel has to bite his tongue to stop himself pulling away from. “You aren’t.” Pain suddenly bursts across Joel’s arm, and he almost falls but Corpirate holds him up, his hand now painfully gripping his chin. Joel’s facade drops, he cries out, a wrecked noise, and he instantly hates that he made it. And Corpirate, the fucking _bastard_ , is still laughing.

Joel is suddenly released, and he falls to the floor. There’s nothing pretty about it, none of his usual poise. He just falls and chokes out a sob as the shock waves travel through his arm. Corpirate taps him with his foot, knocking Joel over slightly. Joel barely manages to sit up, take deep breaths so he can look up, glare at him under tear-soaked lashes.

“Now, you have a few options. You can disband, disappear completely. We can force you to. You could pay us, perpetually. I’m sure that wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Or you could hand yourself over, there are lots of people who are interested in you, you know that? The son of a dead politician. You’re so similar to both of them, they cried too-”

“Shut up, you’ve proved a point.” Joel spits out. Corpirate laughs, stands properly once more so he can stare down on Joel like he’s some fucking plaything.

“I’ll give you a while to think on it. I’m sure your crew would appreciate that.” Corpirate gives one final glance to Joel and smirks, wide and deadly, “Edgar sends his regards.” Then he leaves. He speeds off in his car before the red dots disappear and Joel is left free to move. His head is spinning, mostly from the shock, he’s sure. The bullet is still embedded deeply in his arm, and he’s glad it’s his left one. He manages to push himself to his feet, shaking his head to focus a little more. And he realises suddenly that he has a dilemma.

This is something so, _so_ much bigger than them.

This isn’t something that his crew can deal with, hell, even RT can deal with. Sure they rule Los Santos but Corpirate rules far more than them. His empire is large, booming, and he’s _sure_ RT has been a thorn in his side for too long. And Edgar? Joel doesn’t think about Edgar. All he knows is that the man almost single-handedly took down the Fake AH Crew and that it took all of RT to push him back. And they’ve never been as big as Fake AH.

Joel thinks through all the options. Disbanding is a no go, they’d never agree to that. Joel doesn’t think any of them can survive without this in their lives. The crew is more than a crew for them now, they can’t lose that. Being forced to disband? Well, they’d be dead. Paying them isn’t a smart option, that’s what happened with M. It starts reasonably and it gets worse. And worse. And then it’s impossible. Except this would start at unreasonable, Joel knows the game. And then there’s the last option.

The last option.

The guys would never let him, they’d bite, spit and scream before they let somebody be taken away (Joel _knows_ this, he’s seen it happen.) But for Joel, it seems the safest option. The guys are safe, what’s one person out of eight? They can recover from losing him. They’ll be safe. _They don’t have to_ **_know_ ** _._ And Joel decides that he can run away. He can lead the attention from the crew to him. And what happens to him after that, he doesn’t care. Because if they’re safe then that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

He's shaking by the time he manages to get the bullet out of his arm. He went back to his own apartment, too nervous to be found by one of the guys. It's not exactly easy to explain how you managed to get _shot._ If he wants to hide this he has to put on his big boy pants and fucking deal. The wound hurts, a sharp sting every time he moves it. He ended up using a pair of tweezers because he didn't trust himself with a knife. Thankfully, the bullet was small and simply went in. It hadn't hit bone or any arteries, even if it bled much more now the bullet was out. He debates sewing it up. He has the supplies but he's pretty sure he doesn't have the skill. He drops the idea as his hands shake so bad it's difficult to get a cup of whatever alcohol he can find. He ends up drinking an entire bottle of vodka, and then some. The guys call him but he ignores it. They deserve him in a far better state than this. He ends up passing out on the couch, arm sloppily bandaged and sleeve pulled back down over it.

 

“Joel?” Elyse’s voice carries through his apartment and releases Joel from his sleep. His head pounds, stomach aches, and he barely manages a groan in response to her call. It's enough, as her face suddenly appears above his, jumping him from his dozed state. Elyse laughs. “You look so fucking hungover.”

“I am.” Joel grits out, moving his arm to cover his eyes (the uninjured one, of course.) There's a bounce next to him as Elyse sits down, leaning back over his legs. Joel shuffles them back for her, gives her more room to sit.

“So, you planning to tell us next time you get drunk and make us all panic?” She finally gets to her point. Joel groans, because _shit,_ he did that.

“Just needed some time alone.” He says. And she nods, face understanding. Joel suddenly realises that he'd do anything for her, for all of them. And they'd do the same for him. He can't have that.

“Tell us next time, please? We were worried.” She requests, gently as if talking to a wounded puppy. Joel hates what he has to do.

“I don't need babysitting, I'm a grown man. I can do what the fuck I want without you guys breathing down my neck.” He hates how easy it comes. He hates how he can feel Elyse falter in her words, and knows that her face just dropped for a fraction of a second.

“Don't I wish that's how it worked.” Elyse huffs a humourless laugh. She stands, pats his feet. “Do you need anything?”

“No, you can go.” And Joel knows she wasn't asking for permission to leave and he also knows that his words were very clearly a dismissal. Her footsteps trail slightly away.

“You know you can talk to us if there's a problem, right?”

“Yes.” Joel stops her before she launches into that spiel. There's a beat of silence and Joel hates how the guilt is already settling, that he wants to reach out and apologise because he doesn't mean this. He doesn't mean any of it.

“Okay. Right.” She pauses, “See you later.” When the door closes, Joel scrunches his eyes shut. He drags his hand down his face. He needs to plan.

 

It only gets worse and it only gets harder.

He becomes reclusive. He turns down dates, shuts down questions or worries and his mere presence dampens a conversation. As time goes on, the concerned looks, hushed whispers, only seem to get more obvious. Joel plays the game well, and it shows. He's placing bets on when one of them will finally snap, finally say something about it and refuse to be placated. Lawrence has already come close, and he saw the hard set of Bruce’s jaw as he tried to offer Joel lunch with them. They're trying so hard, despite his aggressiveness and something about that just makes it worse. He'd prefer them angry - getting kicked out of the house forever would be perfect. But there's none of that. They're so unbearably _patient_ that Joel is left riddled with guilt that he's doing this, that he's lying to them, betraying them, just, still is in a _relationship_ with them. They don't deserve someone like him.

He isn't sure when less of it became acting and more of it became real.

He feels like he should be.

The texts keep coming. He's given a deadline, one that Joel believes he can carry out his plan in. And then it's absent threats. Absent threats of kidnappings, murders, torture and Joel doesn't look at his phone that much anymore. It's not like he's been answering any of the crew's texts either. The pain in his arm reminds him of why (one night, when it had all gotten too much and he felt as if he was going to cave in, give up, the wound reopened and Joel takes it as an omen.) He sleeps at his apartment now, avoids the guys when he can. Hell, he got called into RT to discuss his performance and he lied straight to the people who hold ultimate power over his crew. ‘Personal issues’ and somehow everyone seems to know what you mean.

 

“Hey, Joel!” Sean smiles as he enters, carefully shutting the door behind him. Joel looks up from his laptop after quickly closing the tabs. Sean doesn't wait for his invitation, just sits himself right down on Joel’s bed next to him. They're in the house, and Joel’s been in his room. He doesn't know when he stopped associating the house with ‘home’.

“What do you want?” He asks and there's none of the usual, light and teasing tone he uses. It's flat, dead and it's like the life has been sucked out of the very words. That just might be right.

“I haven't seen you in _ages_ and I wanted to!” Sean exclaims. He's never been one to hide his true intentions. It warms Joel’s heart and in any other situation, he would have smiled. Sean’s only been back for a day and a half but Joel doesn't doubt he knows of the well, _circumstances._

“Well, you've seen me.” Joel shrugs, turns back to his laptop. He was trying to dismiss Sean (he always does. He always tries to push them away before he has to hurt them.) Sean doesn't take the hint or he ignores it. It's always been hard to tell with him. Instead, he just stretches across the bed, yawning like a cat.

“Everyone's having dinner and you should come! Peake's cooking that chicken recipe he has and it's gonna be so good!” Sean exclaims, and he reminds Joel of an excited child looking for the attention of a bored parent. The comparison is not a nice one.

“I'm fine.” Joel says. He knows Sean is frowning as he gently rolls off the bed. He approaches, then wraps his arms around Joel’s neck.

“What's bothering you?” Sean asks and _god_ Joel hates that. He shakes his head and pushes Sean away from him. Leaning forward (and away from Sean) he tries to appear too engrossed in his work.

“Nothing, Sean. Just tell the guys I'm busy.” He sits straight. Sean lingers, stands away from him. Then he finally sighs and walks away.

“Just, get something to eat, at least.” Sean says before he closes the door, shutting it properly behind him. And Joel holds his head in his hands.

 

Right, so maybe Joel hadn't been eating properly. It wasn't his fault - seriously this time. He just, was very used to eating with the others. But he couldn't now, refused to. He'd stay in his room and listen to their laughter, conversations blooming without him. He was sure they didn't miss him too much. And, it's not like he wasn't eating at _all._ Just skipping dinner. And occasionally lunch. And sometimes breakfast if he wanted to get to the house on time. But he wasn't doing it unhealthily just- _doing it._

Okay, he could be trying harder. But what's the point, really?

 

It all came to a head.

It had been for a while, he knew this. He isn't blind, isn't deaf. He's pretty fucking sure they've had entire meetings about his shitty behaviour. When somebody withdraws they fucking notice but usually it gets sorted, within the week is normal. The longest length was probably two weeks and a half but that's because Peake is an elusive man at best and invisible at worst and if he doesn't want to be found then he won't be. Now, there's Joel. It was past the three-week mark and he could see the toll it was taking on the guys. If that weren't enough reason for him to hope things happen, the deadline itself is within a week. And Joel refuses to let that choice be made for him.

When he walks out of his room, there's a complete hush over everybody. The talking stops - the chatter that Joel had been half listening to and half ignoring. Movement ceases. Hell, if Joel weren't able to hear the tv then he might think he's the only person still actually alive in the house. Joel honestly just wanted to grab some wine, but instead barely manages to grab the bottle when there's a hand on his wrist. He's spun around, back hitting the counter and wine bottle being taken forcibly out of his hand, slammed on the marble counter top. Joel cringes slightly, afraid it might shatter. When he finally makes eye contact, it's Bruce in front of him. But Adam, James and Lawrence hover behind. Glancing from the corner of his eye, he can see the others waiting intently with fear in their eyes that is not as well masked as they think. Joel, he just narrows his eyes.

“We need to talk.” Bruce starts and Joel huffs a single laugh. His face transforms into one of disgust in an instant.

“We really don't.” He says, pulling away from the gathered posse. He's slammed back, the air knocked from him instantly. His eyes widen as he looks up to Bruce, sees legitimate fear on his face suddenly. Joel steels himself, becomes impassive.

“Joel, are you okay?” Bruce asks, quickly. Joel bats away the hand that reaches out to him. He notices how quickly Bruce retracts it, like Joel had just growled at him.

“I don't know, Bruce, maybe you should consider that before shoving me into a counter.” Joel snaps, voice laced with venom. It seems to bring Bruce’s anger out once more. Hell, you could pinpoint the moment he picks up on the mood, on what is really about to happen. Joel hated it.

“Quit it with your fucking attitude, Rubin.” Bruce says, voice deadly serious again. Joel rolls his eyes, shaking his head and frowning.

“Are you seriously ‘Rubin’ing me, Greene? Do you fucking hear how stupid you sound or is this just normal for you?” It's shockingly easy to counter, the sentences flowing like a broken, shaking poem. It hurts to say them, every word sand in his mouth where he's used to silk.

“Joel, please, _please_ don't be like this.” Adam interrupts - ever the pacifier.

“Be like what, _Adam,_ myself? Are you serious?” Joel says, glaring his way too now. Bruce growls, his hands reaching and pinning Joel’s wrists against the counter once more. He flinches slightly when it pulls on his arm. Somehow, he doubts the gesture goes unnoticed but in the heat of the moment, nobody comments.

“No, like whatever shitty act ‘ _you_ ’ has become!” Bruce answers for Adam and suddenly, like that, genuine insults have been thrown Joel’s way. Despite everything, it still hurts. He feels selfish thinking that.

“My _shitty acts_ helped fucking build this crew!” He shouts, straining against the vices around his wrists and fuck it _hurts._ The wound in his arm burns painfully and he just wants it all to stop now. He just wants to reach the end (however devastating it will be.)

“And they're going to tear it apart!” Bruce shouts right back and just for a moment, Joel’s heart stops because _that wasn't the plan._ And he hopes, really hopes, Bruce is just saying that for effect.

“Well, that's too bad!” There's no time to show emotion, no time for hesitation. You have to be a machine - firing off bullet after bullet. They don't think about the lives they might take.

“You'd, you really want to destroy the crew?” James asks, haltingly and it's as if the mood changes once more. There's fear in the air now. Were this a meeting, this is when he'd deal the final blow. Saying that, that's all this has been really. A job. He wouldn't be able to do it any other way and internally he laughs at how Bruce’s ‘shitty acts’ comment was correct. That's all anything Joel does is. A shitty act.

“Just my role in it.” Joel says, firmly. In Bruce’s shock, he loosens his grip, and Joel’s able to finally push him back. He brushes himself off and looks back up to the gathered four.

“Joel Rubin don't you fucking walk away!” Bruce shouts as Joel pushes past them. He turns, shakes his head before retreating back to his bedroom. He only grabs his laptop and stuffs it in its bag before he climbs out the window. He climbs with precision and lands amongst the thorns of the rose bush growing below. He winces, feeling them scratch at his bare skin. He didn't grab his jacket, left it in his room. He can get one from his apartment. He looks at his jeans, at the patch of red spreading from a large break, and realises he'll need to change too. Climbing fully free of the bush is a challenge in itself but he does. He turns, takes one final glance at the house. The windows still glow a gentle yellow despite the curtains. He swallows back the lump in his throat, takes a deep breath.

He leaves his home.

 

Joel is in the middle of packing when there's a knock on the door. He shakes his head. If it's one of the guys then they'll let themselves in. Sure enough, within a minute there's the sound of the door opening. He tries to place the quiet footsteps but he can't and that's odd. Usually, he can tell people by footsteps alone. Maybe he's fallen more out of touch than he thought.

“Joel?” A voice calls, soft and gentle. It's Matt, Joel recognises. His body goes cold when he realises that if Matt still cares the others will. Because Matt, fucking _Matt_ just has that effect and that endless patience that makes you _care._ They say that Sean wears his heart on his sleeve, - hell, Joel’s may be hidden now but not always - but really, if any of them do: It's Matt. Matt who cares and listens and never even talks about his own issues because he doesn't want to be a problem and fuck, Joel destroyed him, didn't he?

The door opens, and Joel sees the fear wash over Matt's face. There's a rucksack on the bed, shirts folded carefully beside it. Not too many, enough for a week at least. Drawers are left open, the wardrobe too and a pile of hangers has accumulated on the corner of the bed. There's a silence as Joel watches Matt's face - he's always so expressive - as he works through whatever it is he's working through.

“What was such a big deal you had to run all the way to see me?” Joel refuses to let him sort his thoughts out. Matt jumps as if from a trance and he blinks back to life in an instant. His gaze goes from the room to meet Joel’s and god, it was so open, so caring. God…

“I was worried, the guys weren't exactly… Gentle…” Matt trails off, once more breaking eye contact, looking again around the room. It's painful as he watches Matt take in every detail.

“No, really?” Joel drags Matt's attention back to him as he stands, takes long strides until he's in front of Matt. He towers over him with ease. Stepping back, Matt observes him with a scared curiosity. “Did you come here because you want to make things better? Play happy fucking families?”

“I wanted to make sure you're okay.” Matt whispers and Joel fucking laughs.

“Little Mattie, always looking out for his boyfriends.” Joel shakes his head and he still can't believe he said any of this, “You're an idiot, you know that? Can't even speak up for yourself. God, you're fucking worse than the others, always so insecure and shit!” The shock and hurt across Matt's face will haunt him for a long time. He continued. “And all the others just coddle you like some precious lamb, you're a grown fucking man! You should act like it!” Joel steps back, refuses to hold Matt's eyes anymore. He knows they follow him as he paces anyway. “Like, what happens when something goes wrong on the field? Will you speak up then? Or will you just run away and hide like the fucking kid you are? Fuck, if there's one person I could get rid of in this relationship it would be you because all you do is bring us the fuck down!”

Matt doesn't try to defend himself. He stands there, nails biting into the skin of his hand. The transition is painfully slow. He clenches his teeth first, breathing heavy and forced and then he trembles and blinks _hard_ and there's a wetness and-

And Joel kept going.

He keeps going despite the suffocating feeling and Matt's first tears. Because Joel has been trained to make people trust him since he was a child. He knows how to twist and turn sentences, how to target on those small, ever so tiny signs of delight to get his way. It's his job, he isn't useful for anything else (unlike Matt, wonderful Matt, who is their medic when Lawrence can't be, who provides sniper cover despite the fact he hates killing and who despite all of this doesn't believe he's worth anything and _oh god.)_

Joel can get people to trust him but it's a double-edged sword and he _hates it._

At some point, Joel starts crying. He still can't pinpoint where, he said so much he doesn't mean that night that most of it has just been, blocked, from his memory. He doesn't want to remember what he said. He doesn't think he can ever look at Matt again. He doesn't deserve him, Matt deserves the others _not him._ Hah, as if any of them deserve Joel. They're all wonderful, talented people with so many different skills and he, he's _Joel._ His only skill is lying to the people he's supposed to love.

“I just, I can't live with you, with this, anymore!” Joel yells, because he's reached that point. He tries to discreetly wipe the tears from his face but he knows it's still obvious. Nobody's perfect. “I need out, okay, I need to make my own fucking path and I'm sorry that all of you seem to hate that!”

“We don't-” They're the first words Matt has spoken since Joel started on his rant. But he stops, swallows hard. “We just, just want you to be happy. Want you to be happy again.” His voice shakes and wobbles as he speaks and Joel feels his heart shatter in his chest and he needs to leave.

“I'll be happier without you.” He knows that Matt won't take the ‘you’ as plural but he doesn't think it's important to expand. He picks the rucksack off his bed - he never even finished packing - and slings it over his shoulder. “I'm not sorry for this, any of this. Tough it up and deal.” Honestly, was he talking to Matt or himself?

And Joel, with his half-packed rucksack, leaves. He doesn't know what he leaves behind - can only hope it's better than what awaits him.

  
  


Bruce regrets the fight the second Joel’s bedroom door slams. No, probably before that.

They're, they're all stressed. Joel is, Joel is _something._ After the fight, they sit silently in the living room. They stare at the television but none of them are actually watching it. Elyse and Sean are the first to leave. They go to Sean’s bedroom and Sean is _shaking_ actually _shaking_ and that just makes it worse. None of them know what to do. Joel just, he's a stubborn bastard. And normally that's great! But, they don't know what he wants. It's just like something changed and he has a mission - a vendetta - but none of them actually know what it is. But what kind of mission means he has to be a bitch?

Matt leaves next. He leaves the house entirely and none of them question it. He prefers being outside, under the night sky. He usually drives to Chiliad just to see the stars. He says they remind him of home. (And every time Bruce wonders how long it will be until Matt considers _here_ home. Here, with them.)

Adam and James are cuddled together on one of the sofas. They both seem afraid to let go. When Adam notices Bruce staring he opens one of his arms. Bruce takes the opening. On the way, he gently pulls Lawrence to his feet, brings him too. Lawrence had been sat on the armchair by himself and Bruce could tell he was thinking too much just by looking. Together, they settle around Adam and James. The four simply share each other's warmth, a tangle of limbs. When Bruce glances at them, the only person with their eyes still open is James. James, who offers a tiny smile that Bruce returns. Both look tired. A silence envelopes the room as they recover. Each of them are a blanket to one another, offering warmth and a simple presence. There's a gentle tap on Bruce’s shoulder and he looks up. Elyse is there and there's something in her eyes. He quickly uncurls, ignoring the small whimpers of Adam and James’ whine. Lawrence peers at him through Adam's hair and his head tilts in concern.

Bruce follows Elyse to the kitchen and shivers at the fact they just had a fight in here. He can't look at where he'd pushed Joel against the counter top barely an hour before. He'd looked, he'd looked so scared and _fuck,_ Bruce can't believe he'd yelled at him after seeing fear, actual _fear,_ in his eyes.

“Bruce.” Elyse waves a hand in front of his face, startles him back to the present. She raises her eyebrows at him but says nothing. Instead, she taps on her phone and holds it out to Bruce. “I got a text from Matt saying to come get him from Joel’s. Bruce, I, he hasn't responded since, I don't think what we find is going to be _good_.” She trails off, sucking on her bottom lip before meeting Bruce’s eyes once more. He only reads Matt's text, seeing Elyse’s worry just seems, too personal.

“I'll go.” Bruce says and he's already reaching to get the keys - both to his car and Joel’s apartment (they have spares for each one of their personal homes. After one incident any doubts of privacy were gone.) Elyse grabs his wrist first and he turns towards her again.

“I'm coming too.” She says, face set hard. There's a fury now, the emotion hidden in her eyes. Bruce absently wonders if her punching Joel in the face might be a good wake-up call for him. Nonetheless, he shakes his head, drops her hand down to hold it instead. At the door to the apartment, he turns.

“We're going to pick Matt up.” He calls to the gathered three.

Elyse also smiles, adds, “Sean’s asleep but if you guys can keep him company, I'd appreciate it.” Bruce will never cease to be amazed at the power Elyse has over the group, especially watching as they all lean out of their seats. Bruce knows once they've left they'll be racing to fill the request.

“Yeah, how long do you think it might take?” Adam asks.

“Don't know, I'd say half an hour at most.” Bruce says and okay, yes it may be a bit generous. Joel’s apartment is the closest, around five minutes by car on empty roads but they don't know what they'll be walking into when they get there. Part of Bruce knows the sinking feeling in his gut is only going to get worse. He already feels sick with worry.

“Have fun, don't die!” James calls as they step out the door. Bruce could laugh because for such an innocent statement it still holds too much weight behind it.

“Go to bed, you idiot!” Elyse says back, laughing as the door closes. But, it quickly stops once it shuts and her face becomes business. She pulls Bruce forwards and to the car parked inconspicuously away from the house.

They drive in an uneasy silence. Bruce is glad it's a short drive or else it may have killed him. There's tension filling the car and worse, _fear._ He really doesn't know if Elyse is more scared or he is. He'd love to say he's apprehensive but no, he's terrified. The orange glow of lights flick over the darkness, and Bruce can see Elyse staring up at the sky, at the buildings trailing past with blank eyes. Her thoughts must be in shambles.

They park the car outside the apartment block, just in case. Elyse is out of the car the moment the engine is off, already storming towards the door. She has to stop at the complex’s door, frowns as she turns back to Bruce - who holds the keys up teasingly. She glares, shakes her head as Bruce chuckles quietly. He unlocks the door and the two head upstairs, to the apartment they both know well. It’s no secret that Joel enjoys company over, far prefers the sound of people talking, music and laughing to the silence of living alone. He has never liked quiet, and Bruce supposes none of them do really. If there are two things you should be scared of, it’s quiet and explosions.

As they enter the apartment, it’s quiet.

They don’t knock, Bruce is a bitter man and fuck if Joel deserves any warning they’re here. But as they enter, the living room is empty, the lights illuminating an empty space. Elyse steps in after Bruce, concern quickly crossing over her face.

“Bedroom?” She whispers to Bruce, pointing her head towards the door. Bruce startles when he realises her gun is in her hands, already carefully pointed at the ground beside her. He nods, gets his own gun out and ready. Never go anywhere without one. The two stalk the corridor, Bruce taking the lead. He can hear muffled noises from the room and the two share a look, steeling themselves. Then, Bruce slams the door open, gun already pointed into the room. And, and then they see Matt.

He looks up when they enter, a terror in his eyes that Bruce can’t describe. He’s sat on the floor, pressed against the foot of the bed and his knees are drawn to his chest. In the dim lighting of the room, Bruce can make out streaks of wetness and oh god…

Elyse is quicker than Bruce, throws her gun to the floor and is at Matt’s side in an instant. She gently uncurls him, muttering gentle reassurances to him as she does. Bruce briefly notes how odd it is to see Matt so, _uncompliant_ ; he usually moulds into anybody offering him a hug. Bruce follows her, tucking himself against Matt’s open side as well as he can. Elyse is doing a good job of it anyway.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, we’re here, we’re here.” Elyse whispers, her voice as soft as silk. Bruce stays silent, lets Elyse work her magic as he simply provides comfort with being there. He notices Matt’s phone on the floor near them, and he doesn’t want to think of how it got there. Elyse keeps going, with gentle words and touches until Matt is breathing steadier, calmer than before. Elyse smiles at him even though the worry is obvious in her eyes. Matt takes a deep breath, and it’s still shaky but it seems meaningful this time. They both silence themselves (as if Bruce had been saying anything anyway.)

“Joel’s gone.” Matt murmurs, oh so quiet, as if saying it now makes it real, “He fucking _left_.” Bruce startles slightly at the anger in Matt’s voice, reaches over to take one of Matt’s hands as his mind tries to understand this new information.

“Matt-”

Matt interrupts Elyse, “He left because of _me_ .” And then he starts crying again. Even Elyse is silent after that, her mouth hanging open for a few moments before she’s able to jump back in with her cautious words. Bruce sits, tries to think through this. If Joel, if Joel has really left then, that- he doesn’t know what it’ll do to them. But now he notices the smaller details, the clothes left on the bed, the open wardrobe, and he knows he should hate Joel, hate him for leaving, for pushing them away, for reducing Matt to _tears_ but…

Bruce just feels empty.

It’s half an hour before they’re able to move Matt. Elyse holds him close as she leads them both out of the house. Bruce, trailing behind, is able to spot the phone and keys left on the table beside the door and wonders how he hadn’t seen that sooner. He hangs back, picks the phone up and sighs. It’s Joel’s personal, that he always prided himself on keeping even as the others had to swap phones frequently. Joel’s pride and joy. He turns the screen on, looks at the almost full battery. The lockscreen is a picture of Adam, looking out of the window at the sunset. The golden glow blocks his body out with shadows but catches his face with a careful light. Bruce knows last week it was a picture of Elyse. He shuts his eyes, pockets the phone despite himself. And on the way back, he locks the door anyway, walks quickly to catch up.

 

The news doesn’t go down well.

What a surprise.

Bruce made sure that Matt was safely in one of the bedrooms and Elyse went with him since she didn’t need to hear the news twice. The guys knew there was something weird going on immediately, they aren’t idiots, but even they knew to hold their tongue. Well, until Bruce broke the actual news.

“You- you’re joking right?” James speaks first, always quick to put words to his emotions. The others all look varying levels of confused, bewildered and fuck, _scared._

“God, I wish I was.” Bruce shakes his head, his hand held limply up, Joel’s phone hanging from it. He sees them look at it with eyes wide. Sean seems to shrink into himself, tears are already springing to his eyes. Adam reaches over to him and pulls him against his side, Sean turning and hiding his face in Adam’s shoulder almost immediately.

“He’s actually gone?” Adam whispers it, the words a heavy weight in the air. Bruce shuts his eyes, raises his empty hand to his face to rub at it.

“It looks like it. Stuff’s packed, phone’s left behind…” Bruce trails off as he glances at the bedroom door he knows hides Elyse and Matt. His brain completes the sentence for him as if he’d ever say the words ‘we’re left behind’ out loud.

“I need a drink.” Lawrence says as he stands. Bruce steps in his path, puts a hand on his chest.

“Now is not a time for drinking Lawrence, holy _shit-”_

“I think you’ll find now is a perfect fucking time for being wasted, thanks.” Lawrence interrupts but Bruce still doesn’t let him pass. Lawrence stops, glares daggers straight into Bruce’s eyes, “Bruce if you don’t let me pass there are going to be some real fucking consequences and that is not something we need right now.”

“You getting fucking wasted isn’t something we need either!” Bruce raises his voice, which in turn has James standing.

“Okay, both of you, sit the fuck down and chill out!” He orders. With one last begrudging stare, the two comply, sitting on the seats furthest possible from each other.

“We need to know how to move on from this.” Adam says, assuming leadership now Bruce has clearly dropped it. “Yes, we’re going to need to mourn but we’re also a fucking well-known gang, we can’t just sit around or we’re out of the game.”

“We’ve literally lost the face of our crew, Adam, how do we move on from this?!” Lawrence points out, waving his hands angrily. As much as it hurt to admit, it was true. None of them were as good, as comfortable at taking on personas as Joel. They're all volatile, emotional, and they certainly don’t hide it as well as he can.

“It’s something we need to consider, yes. I’m hoping RT can help us with that.” Adam explains.

James asks, “ We’re getting another member?”

“Worst case scenario, yes.” Adam shakes his head, pushing his hair back, “Hopefully they can cover meetings for us while we sort shit out. Thankfully this isn’t too big a hit to heists since-” He stops himself, as if the name could be a curse on the room itself. “We’ll be okay.”

“You can’t be sure of that.” Lawrence reminds them.

“Yeah. That’s true.” Bruce expects Adam to say something else but nothing comes. The words simply linger in the air, harsh and unforgiving.

“We should sleep on it.” Bruce finally breaks the suffocating silence, rising out of his seat. Lawrence walks ahead of him, into the bathroom and closes the door before any of them can get another word in. James’ eyes follow him as he walks and they look so sad. Bruce never realised how much those blues can bring out his sadness, as if the colour is his entire being. He looks defeated, they all do.

They all share a look before moving. Patiently, Adam leads Sean to get themselves ready as Bruce and James seem to follow each other in their routines. Bruce peeks into the bedroom door and sees Elyse and Matt already asleep. He smiles at the sight of the two cuddled together, Matt tucked carefully into Elyse’s chest. His cheeks are still blotchy, noticeable even in such blue light, but he looks peaceful now. Bruce sends a silent prayer that he stays that way. Even if he isn’t religious, Matt deserves that. He steps out the way slightly so James can look in, and he watches as James’ face softens too, the way he imagines his face must’ve. It’s as if the stress falls away suddenly, even if just for a moment. When James turns to him with a questioning expression Bruce shakes his head. If Matt wants the others to know then they will; Bruce knows he dislikes being seen as weak. Even if crying won’t, and never will, make them weak.

James heads into the main bedroom where Sean is already sat. Lawrence disappeared into his own room, and Matt and Elyse are holed up in Elyse’s room. Bruce turns to Adam, frowns as he sees him sat on the sofa, loading up a game.

“Adam, you need to sleep.” Bruce whispers, walking over to him. From behind him, he plays with his hair, letting Adam stretch his neck back to keep eye contact.

“Do you really think I’m sleeping after this?” Adam asks, and Bruce knows it’s not a question that needs answering. He leans forward, leaves a kiss on Adam’s forehead.

“Try to at some point. We’re gonna need each other now.” Bruce advises.

Adam scoffs, “Like we didn’t before.”

“You know what I mean, you ass.” Bruce teases, ruffling his hair before walking away. He leaves Adam to his game, with the knowledge that he needs to be patient. They’ll all need to cope differently but it’s just- after all this healing, all this effort into building themselves back up from the messed up adults they were, this could tear them apart again. And that scares Bruce. Even as he's firmly under the duvets, taking Sean’s free side, as the three of them all stay as close to each other as they can manage, Bruce is scared. He isn't sure if anything can be a comfort anymore.

 

It was the morning the grief started to set in.

He should have expected it, all of them had been holding out on their false hope that Joel would be back in the morning, safe in their arms. He isn’t, and now they need to live with this.

It starts with Lawrence throwing out all of Joel’s wine. He’s already drunk, was probably awake far before any of them (even Adam fell asleep at some point, his sore back proof of it.) Bruce was woken by shattering glass because Lawrence doesn't just throw things out, no, he has to _throw_ things out _._ It takes Bruce all of five seconds to understand what’s happening before he’s flinging himself from the bed (hopefully without waking the other two) and racing to the noise. He grabs Lawrence’s wrists, ignores how he fights and snarls at him like an angered (or injured, afraid, _trapped_ ) animal.

“Lawrence, you’re going to wake the others up, stop!” Bruce whisper-yells, spinning Lawrence so he’s facing him, wrists now held at Lawrence’s sides. Lawrence twists against him but there's nothing but sheer resistance and Bruce is forced to wait for him to run out of energy. And he does and it's like all the fight completely leaves him. He just wilts, arms going limp and eyes closing, a long sigh of defeat marking just that. Bruce feels awful.

He doesn't know what to say to Lawrence, out of all of them, he's hard to comfort. He's self-destructive, and it hurts to watch but they never know what to do to help. He's a wild card and what works one day will never work the next. So they just stand. In silence.

Lawrence finally sighs again, mutters, “Sorry.” It sounds like a legitimate apology, something Bruce feels guilty to say he wasn't expecting. So instead he just shakes his head, lets go of Lawrence and the man still doesn't move. It's as if he needs permission, like a kid caught being naughty. Bruce reaches forward, pulls Lawrence into a hug. He doesn't reciprocate but he seems to melt into the action. His warm breath tickles against Bruce’s skin.

“You good now?” Bruce asks.

Lawrence laughs against him, “No.” Bruce smiles anyway, shakes his head.

“Join the club.” He whispers to him.

“How do I leave the club, though, that seems like the _real_ question here.” Lawrence asks, a joke in his tone. Bruce laughs.

“I don't know but hopefully we'll find out together.” Bruce hopes his words might be comforting and the way Lawrence hums against him gives him a small reassurance they are. They stand quietly for a bit as the sun glows golden from the window. It darkens as clouds hide it but the light still shines through.

“Was it Matt or Elyse last night?” Lawrence asks.

Bruce licks his lip before answering, “Matt.” He sighs, shuts his eyes as he does. Lawrence reaches up and lays careful fingers along his cheek. Bruce leans into them. “I don't know what happened but,” He pauses squeezes his eyes tighter before reopening them, “he thinks it's his fault.”

“Yeah, Matt would.” For a moment Bruce panics because the words should sound negative but Lawrence really just sounds sad. Because yeah, Matt would blame himself wouldn't he? If it meant the others wouldn't carry the guilt then he would. The idiot would break his back just to carry the world on his shoulders. “Elyse is okay?”

“Better than Matt. You know how she is.” Bruce says and Lawrence nods because yeah, he does. Elyse will make sure everyone else is taken care of before even considering her own emotions. She says it's because of her caring nature, but really? She's just running away from facing it. Bruce wishes he could.

When Bruce looks up, at the window and beyond, he at least feels a bit of peace. It's the same sight as always, nothing different, no change. The same buildings, the same trees, the same sky. It's a weird thought how something so big can happen - something that changes everything for a single person - yet the world moves on the same as always. Things disrupt, things change, but they never stop.

“Do you want to help me get the rest of his stuff?” Bruce asks, finally looking back to Lawrence. His brow furrows and Bruce honestly wouldn't be surprised if he said no.

“Yeah, why not?” Lawrence shrugs. Bruce can think of a few reasons but he doesn't say any. That would be impolite.

Joel has, a lot of stuff.

They aren't actually sure what to do with it, don't want to throw it out because well, what if he does come back? Eventually, they just start putting things in his bedroom because it, doesn't feel like they'll be using it anytime soon. The others wake up around them. Adam starts helping, as does James. Sean is dropped off with Elyse - she'd only come out to get something for them to drink and eat. Sean was adopted on the way. And none of them had seen Matt yet, but at least he's in good company. Elyse and Sean are far better than they could be. And really, Bruce would rather them hidden away. It hurts to look at Joel’s stuff and knowing he isn’t, may never be again, here. It’s an emptiness, a hollowing in the bottom of his chest where it feels like something's missing. And something _is._ Because they’d never thought that they’d break up and if they did, it wouldn’t be like this. It would never be like this. It doesn’t feel real, like it’s happening, and everything moves as if in a haze. Bruce realises he’s grieving - he knows this - but he’s the leader. He has to lead and he can’t do that if he’s grieving. Of course, it’s an unhealthy mentality but he’s still moving, still going. It works.

They close the door to the room and it feels strange. It won’t be the last time they close it, they hope. James slaps his hands together, brushes them off. It’s as if he’s brushing off the mere essence of Joel, and Bruce can’t help his shiver. Lawrence rubs at his forehead, looks so tired. The silence between them is tense and filled with words they want to say but none of them dare to. Standing at the door, it’s as if they don’t know what to do. Living moment by moment, and now that moment has been torn away and they’re searching for the next. Yet, whatever they want to do just, slips from their fingers. The world is fleeting and they are falling through it.

The mental fog is there for the rest of the day. Perhaps the spur of activity has just taken the life from all of them, their willingness to move on from him had left them at a loss. At some point, Bruce calls RT and it's with a shaky voice he has to explain what's happened. If it didn't feel final enough, it does now. They tell him, whoever controls the automated voice, that they will be looking for him. It's a strange thought that, once they weren't even allowed to search for a kidnapped member, instead had to pull missions in secret and the thought spirals because they've been through so much - so _fucking much_ \- why does he leave now? And Bruce knows he's being unreasonable, knows the five stages of grief like the back of his hand, but there's still an anger now, an anger at Joel and he just, he doesn't _want_ it yet what else is he supposed to do? Joel could have just said, could have just given a simple two weeks notice but _no._ Joel had to do his usual signature of a long drawn out ploy to break them apart, make him as unlikeable as possible as if it were a _game_ to him. Somehow it leaves more of an ache that he was willing to tear them all apart than to leave peacefully.

They sit. Well, Adam fell asleep and Lawrence had been quick to follow. His drunken stupor earlier seemed to take more from him than he'd like to admit. James was lying on Bruce’s shoulder, and they held hands in his lap. The television isn't on. It seems wrong. None of them are sure why. James sighs, long and slow, and usually, the sound is one of relaxation, of safety but now it just sounds beaten. Bruce doesn't know if he should be enjoying this. It seems like a calm, as if something's about to happen, rumbling beneath the surface. He should think the earthquake has already happened - and it has - but there's still aftershocks. They can be just as devastating.

 

The aftershocks come in the form of James almost dying the next day.

No, ‘dying’ is too courteous a term.

Almost getting himself _killed_ is more like it.

Because of course, while Bruce may be grieving by feeling lost and angry and raw, not everyone does. And James instead does it by throwing himself into violence. And _of course_ , that violence comes in the form of robbing more stores than is necessary and grabbing the attention of every single cop in the LSPD. Honestly, if there's one thing Bruce didn't need, it was this. Adam was in the process of deep cleaning the entire house, and when he asked Lawrence he barely got a reply. Just a flick of the hand to the lines of code across his computer screen. So, Bruce had to pick James up from the RT Base himself. Of course, maybe Elyse might’ve come but no one really wants to disturb her or the others. Not until they're ready. So, Bruce goes on his own.

Bruce enters the medical ward of the RT Base to a sulking James and an incredibly pissed Geoff. In likely both the drunk and emotional ways. It's at that point he wonders if it's really worth being angry because - by James’ face - he has gotten talked to. Everything feels like stepping around water-filled cups and with one wrong move you knock one over, and another, and another and then all the cups have spilt and you're left with a massive fucking mess. Anything could set them into a meltdown.

“Bruce I thought you could manage your team, not let one of them run rampant and nearly fucking _die._ I'm sorry to say I'm wondering if I should be allowing you to run your own fucking crew.” Geoff turns on Bruce the second he's through the door. Bruce’s eyes widen, and he has to take a step back. His mouth opens but he has no response. Is there a way to respond to that? Geoff could very well take control of the crew away from Bruce and that is the last thing they'd need right now.

“Geoff if you should be punishing someone it's me don't you fucking dare bring Bruce into this!” James sits up, looks like he personally wants to pull Geoff away from Bruce. But he winces, a ragged breath sucked in instead of movement. Bruce watches, tries to step around, reach out to James because _oh god he's hurt_ but Geoff blocks his path and he's forced with his back against the door to just _watch._

“If you think this is the sort of shit you should be pulling as a crew then RT did a bad thing picking you up!” And both James and Bruce flinch. They actually flinch at the comment because if RT hadn't picked them up then, then things would be so much worse than this. And why, why does Geoff have to turn on them _now_ when everything is so volatile and it feels like their foundations may crumble beneath them.

“You,” Bruce falters, “You actually mean that?” And he watches Geoff’s face instantly soften, as if realising what he just said (and draws an unconscious parallel to Joel who _didn't_.)

“What's happened to you guys, are you in trouble, what's going on?” The questions spew out of Geoff’s mouth and Bruce is overwhelmed, uncomprehending and just stares ahead. Thankfully, James notices, sits up as straight as he can manage and accepts his cue to take over.

“They haven't told you?” James asks, because yeah that's a little odd. Out of all the people in the network, you would think they'd tell one of the founders. Perhaps it hasn't gotten that far.

“There's a waiting period on information being released to people than those who need to know it.” Or that, as Geoff explains. James nods, manages to motion Bruce forward so he sits on the floor beneath him. He looks so small. James lies down again so he can reach his hair. “So something has happened.” James laughs, shaking his head at the comment.

“You could certainly say that.” He huffs. That antsy anger had come back and he wants to throw, punch - just move something. He wants to be violent and bloodthirsty. Instead, he settles for petting Bruce’s hair and his words. “Fucking Joel ran. He pushed us away for a month and fucking _ran._ ” He flicks his hand up and it comes back down as a fist. “None of us are okay.”

“Yeah,” Geoff observes with the eyes of someone far too wise for his years, who has seen too many things, “I can tell.” (And James absently remembers Ray, and how they had to cover their heists as they grieved him. At least Ray said goodbye, at least they could still see him. They mourned anyway.)

“I'm sorry.” James swallows his pride. Geoff walks beside him, pulls James into his side silently. James sighs, the sound long and deep and it's as if he releases some of the ever growing tension with it.

“Trust me, you're all going to need each other.” Geoff says. His eyes are looking at Bruce as he speaks. Bruce, who still stares at the wall either fully caught up in his thoughts or not thinking at all. James smiles sadly at the sight.

“We're trying our best.” He whispers, lightly holding a tuft of Bruce’s hair before letting it fall, strand by strand. “It just hurts.” Geoff takes this opportunity to crouch down, meet James’ eyes. He doesn't say anything for a long, long moment. It feels as if he is analysing, absorbing every little detail. James wonders if eyes are really the window to the soul.

“Good.” Geoff nods. “It should hurt. It proves you're still alive. And eventually, it will hurt less and less until that hurt is no longer all you can think about and you can move on. But it will still hurt. You'll just know how to ignore it.”

“You say that like you know for sure.” James comments, and his voice is harder than he intended but still perfectly reflects how he feels. Geoff laughs, pats James’ head.

“That's because I do.”

  
  


It's so dark.

It feels like the room is closing in on him, moving and changing simply because he can't see it. A slight move of the arm and he's stabbed, sharp pains running up and making him flinch away. He barely catches himself before he hits the other side.

His hands rest on his knees, pulled up to his chest where he's settled on the floor. He clutches at himself even if it's only to know where he is. He can't see anything. Can't see the spikes he knows are around him, can't see his pale skin. The only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat as it thuds. Absently, he remembers an average heartbeat is sixty to one hundred beats per minute. He doesn't know how long he's been in here. He doesn't want to.

The door opens and the light is blinding.

He's dragged forward before he can adjust, cries out as broken ankles give way beneath him. Passing a barred, far away window, he notices it's day now. It was sunset when he went in.

Water is forced in him, some kind of protein bar. Any other time, any other place, he would complain. Now, the taste is heavenly on his tongue.

Then, he's forced before the small, closet-like room once more and he cries at the sight.

  
  


On the third day, the trio leaves the room. Bruce has still been, drifting. Disassociating, Caleb had told James. He would stare blankly at anything, eyes simply blinking without thought. He'd reply to questions once asked, but the response time was slow. His eyes would close as if he were trying to understand the words, remember the language. They'd coerced him into eating and he hadn't moved of his own accord since. It was unnerving - to say the least.

But, it was the little victories that counted right now. Those being Elyse finally leading Matt and Sean out of the room. James gets a glimpse of them, as they go to the showers with a persistent Elyse, and then after he's surprised to find them sitting down. Even Lawrence looks up, briefly surprised by the new occurrence. Matt sits alone, taking the armchair in the corner. He's mostly buried in his own hoodie, shrinking down into it. Sean, however, sits right next to Adam, cuddling into his side and making a content hum. Elyse smiles at James but there's a tiredness behind it, a loss. She sits between him and Bruce, casting the latter a solemn look.

“It's bad, isn't it?” She asks gently.

James laughs, “What part?” Elyse shakes her head at him with a sad smile. She spins in her seat, so she can lean back against him.

“All of it, really. I don't think there's anything good right now.” She raises her hand but the gesture is limp and it drops as she sighs.

“They're out of the room.” James offers.

Elyse shakes her head, “Matt isn't himself.” Her voice is a whisper, gentle beside James’ ear, “It's as if he doesn't _want_ any help, like he's trying to avoid it as if there's something to prove right now.”

“We know how Matt is. I'm not surprised this has brought it back up.” James says and the words aren't a comfort despite how he wants them to be.

“I don't know what to do.” Elyse admits and the words stop then. The admittance of what all of them know and feel out loud shouldn't be a surprise and yet it is. A forbidden truth has finally been spoken.

The rest of the day is mostly uneventful. There's a bit of talk, mostly between Adam, James and Elyse. Lawrence throws in a few comments occasionally - when he's able to tear his attention from the screen. Sean also does, even Bruce manages one or two. He's struggling, James can tell. Elyse has one hand wrapped around his and it seems to be a comfort to him. An anchor. He seems more back in reality than when he suddenly left.

“How long do you think we have?” Adam throws the question out. It's uncharacteristic of him, to voice his worries and James doesn't bother hiding his frown. He's too tired to joke now. There's no point in trying to keep everyone happy when he can't even do it for himself. Anger is boiling still in his blood. He doesn't know for what.

“Until what? That could mean anything. RT kicks us into gear, we actually move on or the world ending, even!” Lawrence exclaims, suddenly.

“Pretty sure the last one has already happened.” James says, shrugging. He's playing a game on the phone, not really paying attention. Lawrence spins in his chair, and they already know what's about to happen.

“I can't believe one of us fucking _left!_ We aren't even grieving because he's fucking dead but because he was too much of a chicken and ran!” He waves toward the door. “I never thought that- I just,” He finally breaks down, and Elyse springs up to reach him. She gently pulls him from the computer chair, pulls him to the sofa with the others. She pretty much drags him into her lap and hugs him tight. Bruce reaches over, wraps a careful hand around Lawrence’s.

“That-” Bruce pauses, startled by his own voice, “It's not too tight, right?” He asks. Lawrence smiles reassuringly at him, his voice choked up in his throat. Bruce nods, slowly and James feels his heart twinge at the sight. God, how did this happen to them?

Part of him was surprised it had taken this long. Was that bad? He imagined one of them would have left, died, _something_ far earlier than this. It's been literal years they've been together, far longer than the life expectancy of any alliance in this godforsaken city. Even RT has had problems, break-ups, nobody makes it through without changing. No group makes it through without breaking.

They've reached their breaking point.

Now they just need to get to the other side. Hopefully with all of them alive. And in one piece.

That's some wishful thinking.

Especially with the evening of day four. The day had been as normal as the previous, whatever ‘normal’ is to them now. It seems to be stilted silences that nobody wants to break, sitting quietly or hiding in bedrooms, smashed plates and punched walls. Normal is not even daring to breathe _his_ name - no indication of him at all. There are no happy memories, there are no sad memories, there are _no memories._

Adam is cooking at the time. He always is - avoidance by doing. You only had to open your mouth to suggest a chore and Adam would be doing it. Elyse is particularly good at this, lists of tasks obviously running in her mind. Even minor things, and it's suddenly obvious who keeps the house together while the boys cause chaos. (Well, her and Matt but Matt seems to be mostly out of the house and collecting supplies. He refuses to let anyone go with him. It's odd. He's out currently, too.) Bruce is asleep on top of James, Elyse’s hand interlinked with Bruce’s, as it so often is. Sean is leaning on Elyse, and you'd think him asleep if it weren't for how his leg bounces nervously. Lawrence is working diligently on his computer. He's slept for about four hours these past four days and it was only because Elyse forced him to once she found out. The others feel guilty to admit that they didn't even notice. Or maybe they did and just didn't say anything. James just doesn't know.

But, Lawrence’s work becomes important when something that isn't their perception of _normal_ and is instead an idea of _unusual_ happens in Lawrence turning around. He briefly glances at the people in the room, as if trying to decide who he should choose. Eventually, he looks to James with a pleading expression and it takes James a while to scooch out from beneath Bruce. But he knows this must be important. Lawrence has barely turned from that screen in a long time. Alarm bells ring in James’ head no matter how collected he may seem. He takes almost silent steps over across the wooden floor until he stands at Lawrence’s side.

“What's up?” He whispers, ignores how the others are definitely trying to listen - trying to hear. Lawrence’s hand taps against the desk as if he can't decide if he should say it, can't decide the phrasing, can't _decide._

Maybe he just decides to be blunt or maybe he gives up when he whispers back, “I think I found Joel.” James has to stop. He has to remind himself to take it a deep breath, shut his eyes and reopen them. Lawrence is still looking up at James. Was he this pale before?

“You _think?_ ” Is what James finally decides to zone in on.

Lawrence nods, “Trust me, if what I've found is true then we have a moral dilemma on our hands.”

“I'm pretty sure this entire week has been a moral dilemma.” James mutters, rolling his eyes. Lawrence huffs a tiny laugh as he clicks a few links, brings up a webpage that looks like a profile of some kind. James only has to read the name to realise something here is _wrong._ “Lawrence, what is this?”

“A page for a slave auction, James.” Lawrence turns to look at him and his expression is deadly blank. “A page for _Joel._ ”

James stutters before he's able to speak again, “He may have left but we can't just, he doesn't deserve-”

“Oh, it gets worse.” Lawrence raises his eyebrows, as he leans over to highlight a specific category.

“ _Current injuries,_ what the fuck Larr?” James turns to him accusingly. Lawrence doesn't move so James continues, “Broken ankles, dislocated arms, back lacerations, bullet wound - four weeks? Lawrence, did you know Joel had been shot?”

“I, didn't make that connection.” Lawrence whispers, expression changing. James stands now properly, urgently.

“We have his phone, do you know where Bruce might have put his phone?” James isn't as quiet anymore and Elyse gently presses Sean into the couch and strides over, her face urgent.

“Okay, what the fuck is going on between you two?” She says, harshly. The two of them have a moment where they look guilty before launching into a frenzy again. Lawrence is quick to sliver away and out of the confrontation, leaving James to motion to the computer. Elyse’s breath falters, “This is a joke, right?”

“I don't think it is.” James shakes his head because he wishes he didn't have to believe it. The last thing they want is for their morals to be thrown into question with this whole mess yet, here they are. “There's fucking pictures.”

“Don't click on them, _please._ ” Elyse physically grabs his arm, pulls it back. He watches her eyes scan down the page and hears her choke, her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh god, I'm so fucking sorry, baby.”

“I wouldn't call him baby he still fucking _left us._ ” James hisses. Elyse spins to him, shock and anger taking over her eyes immediately.

“To start with, not the fucking time.” Elyse’s glare is unforgiving, “James they're going to _break him._ ”

“They already broke his ankles-”

“James do you not even know what being broken means?” She doesn't wait for James to reply, “They are going to break him, put him through so much pain he's left an empty shell of a human being who just obeys and obeys and obeys with no recognition of whether he should or not!”

“I'll, he'll be okay won't he?” James whispers. Elyse sighs because she doesn't know, and James never expected her to. Lawrence chooses this moment to get back and his hands are shaking with the phone in them. He looks at them all for a bit before he finally speaks, finally seems to summon the strength to.

“We need everyone here.” He says, firmly. “Adam at least, Bruce even if he might not fully understand it but we need them here.” Elyse nods, rushes over to the sofa where Bruce is still asleep. James takes a few steps, calls for Adam with a voice he tries so hard to keep from shaking but shakes anyway. Adam is already in the room by the time Elyse is waking Bruce up. She leads him over by the hand and he seems slightly more alert than before, actually looking at each of them. He blinks at them, and James watches the worry slowly overtake his expression. Lawrence doesn't know what to say.

Joel doesn't delete texts. It's a combination of him being a sentimental sap and him needing to keep track of things. They used to see him reading through his messages, old conversations and he'd always have a stupid lovesick smile as he did. Sometimes one of them would join him, laughing and reminiscing about days gone by. Joel would be the first person to remind them of anniversaries, about appointments or anything, really, because he'd still have the text about it. So when Lawrence finally found the words (well, less words, more a show and tell) of the texts and two finally had a two to add to it - it was sickeningly easy.

“Why wouldn't he tell us?” Elyse sounds heartbroken, her hand leaves red marks where it's gradually slipped down James’ arm. Lawrence shakes his head.

“He got shot, the asshole got _shot_ and we _didn't know._ ” James says, his face is hard set and it's obvious he's reacting to this with anger because otherwise he'd be destroyed.

“When could it have happened?” Bruce starts but Adam interrupts.

“About a month ago, before he got all shitty, remember when he went missing for the night?” They exchange looks, filling in the details just with their eyes.

“He mentioned he had a meeting that night but we were all too busy to go with him. But he said he trusted the client-”

“He was wasted the next day when I went to his apartment, hungover as fuck and I thought he was being an ass was because of that but,”

“The meeting must've gone bad then and he got fucking shot and apparently decided the best solution was to hate us?”

“Do we know who he was meeting?” Sean steps into the circle. He'd been listening across the room, still only partially asleep but now he felt he should get involved.

“No, he isn't on name basis with any of his clients. Only codes, if that.” Adam offers.

“The number wasn't saved in his phone.” Lawrence adds, “But that's standard.”

It's Bruce who finally asks, “Who owns the website?” and has them all stalling at the realisation. Heads turn to Lawrence as he sits back on the computer, chair sliding back slightly at the force.

“I can find out.” He says, and they all nod.

“Right.” Bruce nods, and his voice holds the tone of leadership it had been missing for too long (you'd never think two days can feel like an eternity.) “Sean, call Matt back, please. Adam, call RT, they need to know what's happening-”

“What _is_ happening?” Elyse says, because she knows when Bruce is planning something. He tends to do that, and it can be terrifying sometimes when he has an entire heist planned out from nowhere.

“We're going to plan a heist.” You know, like that.

  
  


“He _is_ a pretty one, I'll give you that.” His eyes stay shut as they talk to- _about_ him. Everything feels muffled, some kind of drug rushing through his veins probably more than his own blood. His hands are attached to the floor in front of him, forcing him to kneel beside where Corpirate is taking his meetings. The room is lit brightly, and people have been in and out almost all day, and he’s been manhandled in ways he'd much rather forget, touched and, _played_ with. There's been no food all day, the only liquid is in a bowl on the floor and he refuses to lower himself to drink it. Even if his head feels as if it's filled with cotton and the room is _boiling._

“Of course he is. I thought about shaving him but it would be a waste of such beautiful locks.” The Corpirate laughs, his hand running through the dirty curls. They fall in his eyes, no gel to hold them back - only the sweat and grime of he doesn't know how long captive here.

The person laughs, “They are wonderful, yes. How much do you plan to sell him for?” They ask, and Corpirate’s chuckle is deep. They're treating this like lighthearted business between friends rather than discussing the ownership of a real, live, human being. He feels slightly sick.

“Oh, auction, definitely. Lots of fighting over this one, I imagine.” They both laugh again.

“It will be an interesting spectacle, I'm sure.” There's a pause, and then, “He isn't quite broken in yet, is he?”

“Oh no, he's getting there, though. One last big shock to the system, that'll do it.” And he stills in both anger and fear because he wants to believe it's not true and yet he can't be _sure._ How pathetic is it to not be confident in yourself?

“I can arrange that. Pleasure doing business with you, Corpirate.” The person extends a final greeting. Corpirate pulls his hand from his hair so he can reach and shake.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Edgar.” And then he's gone.

  
  


At first, RT refused to let them try, well, anything. ‘Corpirate’ was muttered throughout the entire base and sure they have grown stronger since their last encounter, but, so has he. And while Fake AH can break the ‘no personal missions’ rule, apparently _they_ can't. Which is, frankly, bullshit and if James had yelled it in Burnie’s face and further hurt their chances then, _well._  

Thankfully, due to them being the only team stupid enough and actually able to pull off what they planned, their plan got approved. And okay, maybe that's not the best reason to have a mission approved but fuck it, the mission’s approved. A lot of planning has gone into it - it isn't just their usual all guns blazing method. That isn't possible here, too much is at risk ( _Joel_ is at risk) so things need to be done differently. If there's anything the crew can do, though, it's diversify. Their whiteboard is covered in what looks more like a ‘choose your own story’ than an actual plan but it'll work. It has to. And it all starts with this.

It's a simple robbery, on a small gas station outside of town. They happen to know the owner pays Corpirate for protection. They also know that it is definitely on Corpirate’s territory. This, of course, _is not relevant whatsoever at all no way._ It's just a robbery. Some spare cash. Maybe most of the alcohol after Lawrence very quickly destroyed their supplies. That is _all._

Sean is on surveillance with Lawrence, the two outside in the van. Lawrence is taking care of the tech side, cameras must be hacked, headsets must be kept alive, police must be intercepted - whereas Sean is actually watching the cameras. Elyse is sniping on one roof, Matt is sniping on another. Then, James, Bruce and Adam are actually robbing the station, the dynamic trio.

Of course, a simple robbery is not what happens.

It goes wrong about five minutes after they enter the building, the sound of a click and the sudden intake of breath of the entire room. There's a brief moment where there's a bizarre pause, a stillness amongst the chaos. James holds his gun, quickly looking behind him. Adam stays staring ahead but Bruce’s brows have furrowed.

Then Lawrence is yelling, “You have to get out of there, you need to leave!”

“What's happened?” Adam tries to sound calm but there's an edge to his voice - a panic that's not quite masked.

“There was a detonation command, I don't know where the explosives are, you, you _need to get here now_ **_leave!_ ** ” Lawrence orders and his composure is gone and the other three are moving, rushing now. As are the few employees and they're only just out of the building when there's another shout over their headsets.

“Lawrence?” Bruce asks, the three of them still running.

“I don't know who that was- everyone report in-” And then the world explodes.

  
  


The world comes back briefly in the back of a van. There are voices, voices Matt doesn't recognise. His body aches, and he slips away again.

The world comes back once more. It's dark, and for a moment Matt is unsure if he's actually opened his eyes. There's something sticking to his face as he moves it, and it flakes off onto his hand. He can't see the room around him, feels the area instead. There's three walls, the fourth his feet rest against. He can't quite lie his legs flat, even as he shimmies up against the wall. There's an uncomfortable ache in his wrists, an ache in his entire body, but none as strong as this one. When he feels around them, there's the familiar indent of handcuffs. Matt tries to think back, understand what happened. He remembered the heist, and the planning, and the waiting, and the panic and there was someone behind him - he got jumped.

Matt remembers the explosion.

He remembers the brief glance of a building collapsing, that strike of furious terror that still wasn't enough to secure his fleeting consciousness. He, he doesn't even know if they're okay. His own partners they could- could be-

They'd prepared for so much; they had considered every single little possibility their minds could provide, everything planned to a point. When they plan heists it's a science, specific, deadly and, yet… Could anything have accounted for this?

At some point, he isn't sure when, he falls back asleep. His body is still healing, still hurting, from being crushed against the concrete of the roof. He might wake up again, he isn't sure. It's so dark there's no difference between being half asleep and just, asleep. The only indicator of his waking hours are the cramps that gradually set in from his positioning. By the time he's woken, he's on his side and his knees are drawn up tight to his chest (and even then, his back is still partially up the wall, feet still squashed.)

A small click wakes him, has him scrambling up to a slightly more sitting position. In reality, he's hunched and his head is pressed against the roof of the tiny room. He looks as if he's received a mortal wound. He still feels like it.

The door opens. Well, it's more like an entire wall and Matt has to shut his eyes against the light. It actually _hurts._ He's dragged out then, falling on the floor before being hauled up onto his feet. He grits his teeth through the pain. Sore muscles aren't made for this kind of treatment. He feels his hands get secured behind him and he stumbles after whoever is leading him.

Around half way through the journey, he's able to open his eyes properly, and he takes in what he sees around him cautiously. It's grey. That's a summary. Everything looks grey. The corridors are lit by bright, artificial lights and Matt realises he doesn't know the time. He doesn't even know the day. How long was he asleep for? As he catches glimpses of sealed shut doors (near the floor, on the floor, very few are actually normal doors) he wonders if there are people in them. Gosh, how many people is this built to hold? A door opens, another room, and he's seated on a cold metal chair. His handcuffs are moved, wrapped around a ring on the table instead.

Then somebody walks in across from him. They sit down. A porcelain mask covers their face, horns attached that are sharpened to a point. Matt imagines just a light touch on one of those would hurt. He can see the tinge of brown on the ends.

“Do you like it? I only wear this mask for special occasions.” The man speaks, snapping Matt's attention back to where he assumes his eyes are. “It's far too fragile to wear in the field but for these purposes, you _must_ admit it works.”

“It's,” Matt takes a breath, “nice.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say that's a compliment.” The man laughs.

“Sure.” Matt says nothing else, settles into the easy guise of silence. The mask’s purpose is to intimidate, and usually, once you know a technique it should stop working. The effect is lessened to unnerving instead.

“Oh, I never introduced myself! Of course, you don't need to. I know a lot about Matt Peake, the hidden agent of the Fakehaus crew. It's an honour to be in front of you, even.” Matt blinks at him, bites back his sarcastic comments. He doesn't need to cause more trouble than it's worth. “You might know me as Edgar.” Matt has to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed, his eyes widen anyway. “So you've heard of me?” It takes Matt a moment to realise he expects an answer.

“Some stuff.” Ambiguous is safe. Don't let your motives be read, don't give away your emotions.

“So you'll know of your current situation, then?” He asks. Matt stills. “Hm. Suppose not.” Edgar leans forward, across the table, the cuffs clink as Matt tries to move away. “You're stuck here, there's no rescue coming.” Take the words at face value, don't look deeper- “As far as this city is concerned, Fakehaus has been wiped out.” Matt's world freezes, stops, turns on its side and can't be moved again. “So fast as well, it's odd what a few explosions and snipers can do. We made sure to keep a recording for you to listen to.”

Matt knows, he _knows_ he shouldn't be taking the words as if they're true. But everything feels too close, too real. When all he remembers is an explosion, he can't think any differently.

“Why me?” Matt chokes out, finally looks up and meets the cold eyes of the mask. “Why all of this, why not kill me and be done with it?”

“You ask all the wrong questions.” Edgar leans fully forward, mask almost bumping Matt's face, “Why not?”

He laughs as Matt grits his teeth, stands up. With careful steps he walks to Matt's side, holding purpose and poise in the walk. Matt can dissect it all but he's too far gone, can't stop their purpose. What's worse, not knowing what's happening to you or knowing and having it happen anyway?

“Now, I'll let you listen to your last conversation again. I'm sure it will be an eye-opening experience for you.” Edgar lays a light hand under Matt's chin, “We have to make sure you focus on it, of course. Complete silence, complete darkness - nothing but their final words.” He pats Matt's cheek affectionately. “I can't _wait_ to speak to you again!”

He walks out, and Matt feels himself crack.

  
  


Elyse is panicking. More than panicking, in fact. Elyse is terrified. A whole _step_ from a panic attack. The building in front of her crumbled, explosion and explosion and explosion. When she stumbles up, looks over the edge, she can't see Lawrence’s van. She can't see the others. She can see the rising black smoke, and stumbles back from the edge, her hand over her heart. She abandons her gun, runs to the stairs.

She wasn't meant to be on sniper duty. They weren't even planning to have a second sniper, it was a last minute change of plan because a parked lorry was blocking Matt's complete field of vision. She was meant to be on the ground, with Bruce, Adam, James- oh _god._ As she gets lower down the building she realises that people are crowding, blocking the stairs in a desperate attempt to get out. It's an instinctive decision to decide fuck that, bursts into an office and climbs out the window. 

Personally, Elyse is in the argument that climbing up something is far easier than climbing down. She has a strong grip, the skin on her hands is hard from her constant practice. There's no skill quite like being able to scale a building. Getting down one, though, that's always a bit more difficult.

She lets herself drop, arms springing as they account for her weight. She looks down, past the concrete she clings too. There's a small glass canopy below her. Hopefully, she can fall on it and it won't smash through. She takes a breath, aims for the joints of metal, and lets go.

The glass shatters around her, and she’s barely able to grasp the metal before she falls through with it. Takes another breath, drops again, and as she rolls she can feel the glass slicing at her skin. There's no time to wait, though. Pushing her hair out of face she tries to think, make sense. She probably has a minute before the police show up. She can work with that.

There's a crowd of people around the ruins of the site. Her one advantage of being small is that she sneaks through with ease, ignores the shouts of the crowds as she runs out across charred ground. It reminds her almost of sand.

“Guys!” She yells, screams in the minute hope they might still be conscious might still be- “For fuck’s sake answer me!”

“We're-” A cough but she's already running, sliding down a pile of debris. There's another charred car, and she realises as she looks back that there are bodies now on the floor. Blackened corpses that she can barely recognise as  _human._

“Okay, I'm here, we need to go, need to move-” She can't control her panicked flurry of words, looking around the car to see- fuck.

The guys are bad, Bruce is the only one with his eyes still open, and he looks up to her immediately. Adam is sprawled out on the ground in front of him, James leaning against his side. She can see the burns on Bruce’s side, the way his clothes are almost falling off.

“They aren't conscious, are they?” She asks. Bruce opens his mouth and she hushes him fast. “Don't try and talk oh my gosh.” He shakes his head instead. She bites her lip, tries to think. She can probably carry one of them but she doubts Bruce will be able to take the other, fuck, perhaps they could head and tail it?

She glances up, across the ruined site for any sign of Lawrence’s van. She still can't find it, presses at the headphone in her ear with any hope of contacting him. Then she groans. There's nothing, what the _fuck_ is she supposed to _do?!_

There's a sudden rain of gunshots, shouting and yelling.

“Oh, fuck _off!_ ” She hisses, ducks back behind the shelter of the car. “This is so fucking- argh!” Her head buries itself in her arms, takes long calming breaths. She has no idea what to do, this is the worst, _fuck!_

“Need some help, ladies?” A voice says from above them, “Wait, you're actually pretty fucked up.” Elyse looks up, lets out a long breath.

“Michael, I could kiss you right now.” She mutters, getting back up to her feet, “Can you take one of these two? I can get the other and support Bruce, we need to find where Lawrence’s van is, him and Sean were there-”

“Okay, slow down. We found them, they're okay. A little less fucked up than you lot.” He pauses, kneeling down to pick James up, frowns, “The only guy we haven't found is Matt.”

Elyse’s heart drops, “Fuck.” That's the last person they wanted.

 

“What the fuck down you mean we can't do it?!” James demands, sitting up on the bed. Elyse knows that under his hospital gown he's got to be wrapped in bandages, there's some around his head too. Out of all of them, Adam is the only one still unconscious. Bruce seems like he might be teetering on the edge of sleep, however. She knows _exactly_ why they can't do it.

“I mean just that. _You can't do it._ ” Burnie tells him, pushing him back down onto the bed. Elyse sighs, puts her hand on James’ shoulder. Of course, that means it's Lawrence who stirs next.

“They're our crew! We made this plan we're going to follow through with it!” Lawrence winces as he shouts, shoulders still bruised and cut from the van going over.

“We've fought in worse conditions.” Elyse adds, though she doubts it'll do anything. All of RT know they're capable of walking on broken legs. Hell, James can fire a gun with a shattered arm.

“Joel is going to be _sold_ and who knows what will happen to Matt! We might not be able to trace them!” Lawrence continues to rant. He knows the auction is paid in cash, he can't follow the trail of anything sold at one, person or otherwise. There wasn't any mention of when Joel's auction is, he doesn't _know_ and that's _terrifying._

“We understand the stakes you've got here!” Burnie snaps, shutting them all up out of protective instinct. Burnie sees that change in mood, sighs. “I'm not here to fight you, we're putting Fake AH on because you know they wouldn't do you wrong.”

“They don't know Matt or Joel, though.” Sean whispers, although Elyse isn't sure he's doing it intentionally, “They need _us_.”

“I'll talk to Geoff, see what he can do.” Burnie says, after a long pause. Another pause follows and Elyse wonders if it's just her who doesn't know what to say, or everyone else. Everything seems to be going wrong,

“We want to do this.” Bruce says, quietly, and his voice is far softer than his authoritative tone and he seems to have gotten worse again. Maybe it's the adrenalin finally fading away, maybe it's the feeling that there's no way this can fix itself anymore. It's definitely getting harder. What is getting harder is up for question, but _something_ is.

“I promise, we know the risks.” Elyse finally says, picks up where Bruce is too tired to continue. “We're willing to work with them, but we don't want to let them go alone. These are our guys. We want them safe.”

“And we want to kick Joel's ass.” James sticks his hand up. He's already calmer, the energy they all had gone out like a fire finally engulfing the last oxygen in the room. A tired smile.

“I don't.” Sean says, voice still soft, words still careful. “It's gonna be bad enough when they get back. I don't wanna make it worse.” He sighs, plops into the pillow and it almost hides his face from view. “Joel gets cuddles.” A pause. “And Matt. Cuddles for both.”

“Angry cuddles?” James asks. His eyebrow is raised in that stereotypical way where he's being cheeky and Sean sticks his tongue out.

“Happy cuddles.”

“It'll be happy for me?”

“Noooooo-” Elyse is distracted from the argument by a hand on her shoulder. She looks up, looks at Burnie, and the smile he offers her is as exhausted as she feels.

“You understand, yeah?” He asks and she nods, silently, in response. “We're hoping to run this asap, the goal is two days.”

“I hope that's soon enough.” She offers, tiredly.

He nods in response too, “You'll be going, unless a cut gets infected or something.” Elyse smiles, looks down at her arms wrapped in bandages. She doesn't really need them, but it's more convenient than however many plasters, at the moment. Getting them all cleaned out was hell, but they're more concentrated on her arms and legs, the odd few on her torso. There's one that caught her nose and she's pretty sure it won't scar, but the worry’s still there. It won't be anywhere near as bad as the other's, at least.

 

“We should be on the infiltration team.” Bruce's voice is authoritative. He's stood tall, back straight, and Elyse is really getting tired of these boys’ shit. How hard is it to take it easy for an _hour?_ “He might not expect us to be allowed on the field so soon, he won't expect us.”

“Or he also might?” Adam says, tiredly. She can't tell if he's even trying to sass or not.

“I'd personally prefer to be on a rescue team.” She points out, “They're our guys, we'd be best as the first response.” Again, an arguable point but they _do_ know them better and it _does_ link back to their original argument. She's not sure if it would be worth bringing up how it might be better due to their injuries. It probably wouldn't be.

“How many of you are well versed in First Aid?” Geoff asks, seriousness in his voice. Elyse raises her hand, as does Lawrence. “You two are our group leaders then.”

“Wouldn't we be more efficient in pairs?” James asks. He's leant forward on the table, head tilted.

“Safer in threes, considering your current condition.” Geoff says.

“But it isn't _efficient._ ” James repeats.

“We'd prefer to only need one rescue mission. Stay in threes for now. One to handle the…”

“Person?” Elyse suggests.

“Person.” Geoff repeats, “Two to fire and if one goes down, you have a backup.”

“We’d be capable to our on our _own._ ” James, again, points out.

Elyse rolls her eyes, turns to him, “This isn't what we're capable of, it's what's safe to do.” And she hopes the ‘just play along’ is clear in her tone. James leans back in his seat, folds his arms, but goes silent, all the same.

“What she said.” Geoff gestures towards her. “We're planning to cause a distraction in other parts of the building. We have Gavin and some of our B-Team ready to hack into the system in case of lockdown protocols. The other members will be on the ground with us.”

“Do we know where they are yet?” Gavin asks this, Elyse almost forgot they were in the room. They're much quieter than her crew.

“Kind of.” Lawrence shrugs. He has his laptop sat on the table. He doesn't look up from it. “Matt's tracker, before I believe they destroyed it, was weak. I'll assume underground or heavy dampening. Maybe both. But it was primarily in the west building.” Geoff leans over the table, circles it on the map.

“We'll send you guys, “A gesture towards them, “Into there, then. We'll attack in different teams on the other four buildings. Hopefully, we’ll know who's available to help from RT by this evening and can rebalance the teams but until then, assume that this is who you're working with.”

She mostly zones out after that, no point in taking in things that aren't relevant to them. All she remembers is the team leaders and their frequencies, so she can call if they need help. She trusts her boys to do the same. This isn't too different from their usual planning, maybe that's why they got picked up by RT so quickly. Maybe it's why they're able to stand on almost equal grounding with the Fake AH. She can only assume.

 

In the evening she gets the text that confirms the final teams. They're surprisingly big. She's not sure if she should feel guilty that she didn't expect such a response. She spots James and Sean looking at their phones too, the others aren't in the kitchen. Sean's face visibly brightens and she can't help but smile at the sight.

James passes the ingredients to put in the skillet, putting them in whilst Elyse patiently stirs. Rice, onion they'd minced beforehand and pepper. Then, Sean takes his place beside her, holding some of the wine they restocked on.

It's weird, making meals for six. She had to try and do maths to work out how much they actually needed. In the end, she got Lawrence and Bruce to work it out. Lawrence said to just leave it, the leftovers would be useful but. She didn't want to say they may never get the chance to eat them.

She sighs as she adds the broth. Everything about this feels _wrong._ Like, there's something just a little bit tilted or, everything in the house has been moved to the left an inch. Except it's life that has moved to the left an inch. Maybe tilted too. She's not sure. She's never really sure.

The thing is, Matt usually cooks on Thursdays. They swap between each of them throughout the week and it already felt weird without Joel’s cooking nights but now _Matt's_ are gone as well and it's slightly overwhelming. A feeling in her chest that persists like an asshole.

Sean leans on her side, the one that isn't stirring. Not that it would matter too much. She whispers to add the broth and Sean does, carefully adding it as instructed. James is sat up on the counter, sat slightly to the side of the above cabinets. He looks dumb, hunched over how he is.

“How's everything going?” Bruce asks, poking his head up from one of the sofas. Nothing’s playing on the television, no noise really coming from the gathered group there. If she raises herself up on her tiptoes, then she can spot Adam leant on Lawrence, Lawrence leant on Adam. Bruce is sat on the sofa with its back to them, so she can only see him when he wants to be seen.

“Adding the broth.” She replies, peeking over only for a moment. Maybe it's paranoia about it burning, maybe it's guilt about tomorrow. Guilt for what, she isn't sure yet. Guilt about the ‘could’s and the ‘maybe’s and the ‘what if’s? Guilt that she thinks of them to begin with? Only she could know and she still doesn't.

“Cool.” He turns back around again and Elyse catches Sean's long look at him. He huffs, a bit more weight is added to her side and she's not sure he even realises. She hears James check on the oven as she adds the parsley and peas. He perches himself back up on the counter.

“Almost done.” He tells her.

She nods, moves aside so Sean can add the last two ingredients, butter and cheese Adam grated earlier, “So’s this.”

“Good, cause I'm starving.” James slides off, stands on her other side to look. “Looks nice, though.”

“Doesn't it always?” She smiles, turns slightly to kiss him on the cheek. Sean steadies her stirring - not that he needs to.

It's always been somewhat of a tradition, that before a big heist they have a home cooked meal. Even back with M, she knows the boys tried their best (even if it was impossible, most the time. Their food usually came from heists.) She thinks it started back with Adam and Matt. Adam mentioned that Matt always enjoyed cooking, but when he had no time to because of exams, Adam cooked for him instead. He remembered how much Matt had smiled and thanked him and it somehow grew from there. Maybe that, again, is why it feels so weird cooking without him here.

She spoons risotto onto the plate as James puts the steak out. Sean has a collection of cups filled with their preferred drinks. If she looks in the sink, there's one left there. She looks away and tries her best not to think about it again.

“Food’s out!” James calls, leans towards the others. Bruce stands up, walks over to the plates. He pauses once there.

“Which are Adam and Lawrence’s?” He asks. James points to two out, before following Bruce over to pull the coffee table properly out. Elyse watches Bruce put the plates down then gently shake the other two to wake them up. When she looks back, Sean is watching her with big eyes. She almost jumps at the sight, smiles at him after. Kisses his forehead as she picks James’ plate up with her’s.

“Where you sitting?” He calls to him.

“Right,” he pauses, looks around the room before flopping back into a seat, “here!” Elyse shakes her head, passes him his plate before sitting beside him. Sean manages to perch on the arm of the chair before James shuffles over, makes grabby hands at Sean until he squeezes between the two. Bruce is sat with Adam and Lawrence. Elyse can’t work out why it feels so weird being split in half like this.

It’s silent as they eat. She holds in her frustrated sigh at the quiet because it’s unfair to expect things to be _normal,_  yet that’s what she _wants._ Maybe she’s selfish for wishing they could just pretend. Maybe they’re all hoping it too. Maybe this feels too much like those tentative days barely a week ago, waiting for the match to burn the house down to flames that reach up towards the ceiling sky.

Maybe it's realising their own mortality.

Adam pulls his legs up on the sofa, Lawrence whining as he's forced to shuffle and readjust how he's leaning on him. Elyse smiles at him and Adam throws a lazy smile back.

“Anything interesting in the news recently?” Bruce asks, suddenly, almost surprising Elyse. There’s a pause between all of them.

“Don't know, not read through the news recently.” James shrugs, shoving food in his mouth after.

“Nothing about Fake AH, for once!” Elyse smiles.

There's a quiet, “Really?” from Sean, followed by an anticipating pause. “Oh!” They all smile at open mouth, the spark of realisation in his eyes before his hands cover his face and he shrinks back against the sofa with a whine.

“ _Really_ , Sean? _Really?_ ” James smiles, elbowing his side gently. There's another whine from Sean, and Elyse can't help but shimmy his cap back to pet his hair.

“There's a lot of them helping, at least.” Elyse says, with a small smile.

“Glad they're supporting the unloved child for once.” James jokes and she watches Bruce shake his head with a sigh.

“Let's just hope it's worth it in the end.” Adam shrugs.

“It better be.” Lawrence adds, “I've wasted enough teenage angst over this.” She scoffs, can't help herself. The others are smiling too.

“Yeah.” Bruce sighs, rests his head on the back of the sofa, moving his empty plate to the floor. “We really have.”

  
  


He recognises the person, knelt on the floor and separated by one-way glass. He's curled up, head buried in knees, arms wrapped around it. He looks so small, it's startling. He's not sure if he should feel startled. A hand touches the back of his head and he looks up at the person.

Corpirate stands over him, smiling in a way that doesn't feel cold anymore. Behind him, Edgar stands, tall above his crouched form.

“Do you want to make a choice?” Corpirate asks. He tilts his head, doesn't reply. He's not meant to reply. “One last hurrah.” Part of him is sore, looking up like this hurts but he knows better than to look away.

“Just get on with it.” Edgar says, voice rough. He flinches at the impatience in it.

“Well,” Corpirate smirks, crouches down to Joel's level, turns his head towards the figure in the other room. He can see shoulders shake, fists clench. The cuffs around his wrists shine in the bright lights. It feels like a warning. “This is a simple decision, you know, without any hope of rescue-”

“Corp.”

“Do you want your friend here to live or die?”

It takes the breath from his lungs for a long moment. He feels like he can't breath, can't speak, can't answer.

“What's the catch?” He finally asks, quietly. He's surprised when he's not hit for doing so, instead flinches at the loud laugh and hand in his hair.

“Clever boy.” He smiles slightly at the praise, “What is the catch, then?”

Edgar steps more forward, smiles, “If he lives, he belongs to me.”

Joel's eyes widen, mind races with possibilities and thoughts and trying to piece it all together. In a second, he weighs the pros and cons and Joel doesn't want anyone to be _him._ He can't be selfish. He takes one last look at Matt and closes his eyes.

“Let him die.”

  
  


As far as plans go, Elyse realises, as they climb into their vehicles, this is almost entirely ‘winging it’. James rolls his shoulder back and it clicks aggressively. She looks over to Adam as she catches him rolling his eyes.

“You ready?” She asks, checking her earpiece is in properly again. Adam scoffs.

“Ready is an abstract concept that cannot truly be achieved.” James recites, grinning at her. She can see the nervousness sparked still in his eyes, knows him well enough to recognise coping mechanisms over humour.

“We _thought_ we were ready last time.” Adam points out. Elyse doesn't need to point out how saying that's probably not needed or polite. He knows. She's not dumb. He's just stressed.

Unfortunately, James doesn't seem to read that, being stressed as well, “Yeah but we still got the primary objective done!”

“The way we wanted least.”

“But we _did_ it!”

“Not well enough-”

“Boys, stop.” Elyse shushes them, reaching to vaguely cover both of their mouths. “It is what it is. And it's almost over, okay? If you're going to fight, I'll swap one of you onto the other team.” They both go silent. Somehow, it feels more overwhelming than the arguing. “I'm sorry but, you _know_ we're all stressed. Now is the worst time to fight.”

“Now is the _best-_ ”

“Don't you dare, Adam Lee Kovic.” Elyse spins around to him, hair thankfully tied up to not hit him in the face. Subjective thankfully. Maybe she'd prefer for it to.

“Well we're about to head into a fight anyway, just drop it, Adam.” James adds, putting into words what Elyse probably should've. He shuts up, however begrudging it is, and the rest of the drive happens in silence.

Elyse is the one who cues them in. Adam had fallen asleep on James’ shoulder, she knows he didn't sleep last night, heard him moving around the apartment whilst she battled her own insomnia. She's not sure if any of them slept at all.

Once she gets the cue, she quickly nudges him awake. Above them is a small window, leading into the lower levels of the building. They need to get to the basement levels, a way that would usually be far more alarmed if it weren't for Gavin leading their group. He's the one to provide the cue, then it's time to move. Adam is awake and on his feet within five seconds, Elyse leading the way through the window.

They need to be quiet, the alarms are down but that doesn’t account for people. She can vaguely hear the sounds of gunfire, explosions, far across the building. Taking a deep breath, she touches her feet down inside, waiting for Adam and James to come behind her as she lines up ready at the door.

“Ready?” James asks and she nods, nudging the door open and peeking out.

“Clear.” She tells them, stepping out, still sticking close to the wall. They follow, and it continues like that for a while. The building is artificial, none of the fanciness of the front offices. It’s obviously a building that’s not meant to be looked at, it feels depressing. Concrete walls hang over her head, fluorescent lights glaring to the rest of the room. They all stay close together, as if it will protect them from the essence of the building itself. There’s so little signing, only Gavin’s occasional directions to go by and she hates how vulnerable it makes her feel.

“We're at the stairs.” Adam says, voice soft and hard, travelling barely a step from him.

“Right, once you go down I will no longer have eyes on you.” Gavin answers, “Everything is open, you can make your way there.” Elyse takes a look backwards, tilts her head to Adam and James.

“Come on, let's go.”

The staircase leads down surprisingly far. It wasn't something she expected, for it all to be this deep underground. Maybe a few floors but this is fifteen flights of stairs, at least. It goes further, as well, but they don't know what floor they should be looking at. It's best to check each one.

Adam takes the lead on the first floor. There are guards, this time, each of them are on high alert, watching cautiously around corners, behind, in front. They can't leave a single angle uncovered. Where they can, they stick to silent weaponry, where they can't, they use silenced pistols. They just need to keep it safe. She hopes the others are doing as well as they are. Hopefully better. She can't hear the sounds of the firefight in the distance anymore.

James takes the second floor.

Elyse takes the third.

The fourth, Adam leading again, is distinctly different from the previous three. Most of the rooms there were adorned by metal shelving, with boxes and crates stacked high. Storage, she assumes. What's more, is that the security for the staircase is obviously more complicated than that of the previous floors. It's open anyway, but she still pays it cautious attention.

The next floor is occupied by much less shelving. There's a lot of panels, on the floors and walls and Elyse can't work out what they're for. Each one seems to be locked tight, they don't have time to look through them all. Adam takes it far more slowly than the others regardless and Elyse is thankful for it.

Until he turns a corner and stops in his tracks.

“What the fuck.” He says, partially breathless, the sound coming out as a whisper instead of the authoritative statement it could have been. Elyse presses their distress signal before she even realises it.

The corner leads into a bigger room, filled with glass boxes, walls on walls on walls. At the very front, someone bangs on a wall and Elyse flinches, feels James jolt beneath her grip too. The three stand, motionless, staring out at the room. People are crying, screaming, yet they can’t hear a single sound. Her breath chokes her for a moment and she has to cough it out, needing to look at the floor and hope the same sight doesn’t greet her when she looks back up.

“Come on.” Adam encourages, reaching out for her hand. She takes it, takes James’ too. His finger curl over her’s on her gun, squeezing awkwardly, tenderly. Adam takes the cautious steps forwards, through the people, the prisoners and there’s a feeling in her stomach - in her throat - and she is glad that she didn’t eat anything today.

“We can’t leave them here.” James whispers.

A beat of silence.

“I pressed the distress signal.” She murmurs, half without meaning to. “Others will be here soon.”

“Whenever they get the signal.” Adam says, moving again through the corridor between the glass. She’s not quite sure where the doors are for the rooms, maybe the other side? She feels like knowing would be helpful. Her shoulders are pressed tight to Adam and James’. She notices one of the cells are empty but then stops dead at the sight of the one next to it.

“Joel.” She’s not sure when her hands drop their’s, when she find herself at the glass, banging against it viscously, crying out as if she’s the one in pain. She sees his head lift, the way he draws in on himself, as if someone’s going to hit him, and she screams his name louder.

“Elyse, get back!” Adam calls, then James is pulling at her, dragging her away and she’s still trying to fight him until he’s brushing tears from her eyes and she doesn’t even know when she started crying.

The gunshot is loud, glass shattering in an instant and now Elyse can see inside the cell she realises it was obvious it was one-way. Adam is rushing in and James holds her back, only lets her in when she pulls him to. Adam is knelt by Joel, hands cradling Joel’s face and Elyse can’t quite tell if Joel is responsive or not. She crouches by him too, dropping to her knees almost instinctively, hands reaching out, one pushing his hair from his face, another feeling his heartbeat.

“Oh baby,” she whispers, pulls him away from Adam, tucks Joel against her chest. He pushes against her, very gently, but she lets go in a breath. “Joel, please, talk to us, _please._ ”

“You-” He tries, coughs until he almost falls over if it weren’t for Elyse holding him up. She realises there’s blood stained around his mouth when he sits back up and she tries not to tighten her grip on him. “Matt- please, please get him, _please,_ he’s going to _die._ ”

“Where, where is he, Joel, c’mon, sweetheart.” She talks quickly, barely managing to slow her words down enough for him to understand her. At least, she assumes he does.

“Freezer. The freezer. Please.”

Elyse doesn’t think she’s run faster in her life. Joel is on James’ back. He’s half unconscious, half murmuring directions to him. They’d all raced down the staircase, leaping down stairs, never taking one at a time. They don’t bother checking the other floors, not now. They know their target, they need to _go._ James is slightly slower than the others, with a full human on his back, but manages anyway. They don’t want to leave him on his own, they need to stay together.

“This door.” Comes Joel’s almost silent instruction. Elyse audibly curses the lock on it, pulls the explosives off James’ belt in an instance.

“Get back.” She instructs, scampers back up the stairs slightly. She only just waits for them to get behind her before she blows the door, holds the railing for support, braces a foot on the stair behind her. It flicks her hair back, makes her close her eyes and hold up her arm to stay safe.

It blows away more of the wall around the door than it does the door itself, she notices.

“James?” She calls up to him. He tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Sit down, stay out here.” She doesn’t give him or Joel any time to protest before she walks in.

For a brief moment, she wishes it was the other three that looked at this building. The other three to see this sight, feel like the air was taken from them, left on the ground and stamped on several times. For a brief moment, she really does.

Then she realises that she could never wish that on the others. She’d rather take the nightmares than them.

It’s line upon line of bodies.

They’re all stripped to just underwear, hanging by wrists off pointed hooks. Hung up like slaughtered pigs. The room is cold, incredibly so. She shivers stepping into it and she’s still wearing three layers. Adam is behind her, plastered to her back and she takes out her knife, bites her lip. There’s a constant low moan of pain and it is sickening. She can barely tell which bodies are alive and which are dead, the lines extend further than she can see.

“Split up, we need to go.” She orders, points in another direction. With a quick movement, she reaches up, grabs the hook to lift herself and slices through the ropes holding the person there. She doesn’t have time to listen to the person’s thanks, instructs them to stay close. Eventually, she’s ended up with quite a group, huddled like penguins. A few she cut down were already dead and she hates the possibilities in her mind (just a bit quicker, a slightly different order, et cetera et cetera.) She moves on, hands sore from the hanging, but keeps going anyway.

“Elyse, Elyse, I’ve got him!” Adam yells, across the room and she finishes cutting down the person she was on, gives her knife to the person closest to her.

“Please, keep going, please.” And they nod so she sprints, sprints to where Adam is stood.

Matt is sprawled over him like a dead body. His arms hang loosely over Adam’s shoulders, limp and unmoving. Elyse stops where she is, looking at his bloodied face, droplets rolling off his hands from his wrists. They took his binder, she realises, and feels the spark of hatred caused from it. Adam looks to her, with worry across his face.

“He was barely breathing, ‘Lyse.” Adam sounds like he’s barely breathing, too. “I don’t think-” Elyse puts a hand on his face, kisses him silent.

“He’s alive, they’re both alive.” She says, their lips still touching, “We did it, Adam.”

“Was it enough, though? Elyse what if- what if they-”

“It was enough.” She silences him, again, closes her eyes. “No matter what happens next, it was enough.” They fall into silence, only briefly broken by the sounds of shouting and yelling from the stairs. Her boys. She sighs, shakily, stands properly on her feet. In her mind, she’s already trying to work out what they need, what they need to do, to _save._ There is blood stained across her top, across her face, in her hair but that’s okay. Her boys are okay.

It’s going to be _okay._

**Author's Note:**

> narrator's voice: "it was not okay."
> 
> it will be, eventually.
> 
> my tumblr is @ [lackyducks](http://lackyducks.tumblr.com). come bother me. or yell at me for writing this, i understand.


End file.
